THE FALL
Acacius
Take her title.
It was the first thing that came to Acacius’s mind after she left him in the forest to unravel the dark bramble from his flesh, after he tore open his shaking limbs to free himself. Eyes wide with a deranged excitement, he rested his elbows on his knees, catching his breath as his body repaired.
She claimed not to care about anything, that there was nothing of value he could take from her—a lie he was eager to prove wrong.
Marina prided herself in her strength, and what would happen if he took that power away? If he were to fracture the shell she hid herself away in?
What would seep out?
All it would take is one fissure, and Acacius was confident the High Goddess would come undone on her own.
He stood in line alongside the Council under the great divine coliseum in Isolde, the thick layers of his black robe and eldritch mask hiding his identity.
Bright rays of sunlight luminesced off the quartz cathedral walls. Tufts of smoke bloomed all around as deities filled the rows of seats.
Acacius refused to acknowledge Iliana at his side. Like him, her identity was concealed by the lustrous orb in place of her face. It would give any deity a migraine if they stared at it for too long.
The High Goddess of Eternity stood at the end of the line next to Mavros. Naia’s long silver waves were clipped up off her neck, her chin held high, demeanor poised with a regal stoicism worthy of the Council—far from the overly expressive looks she wore during the many gatherings in Kaimana that Acacius attended throughout the years.
An itch prodded in his fingertips to open a cut in the room and let his Chaos pour out. All it would take was one deity to react to his call for destruction to spread like spilled blood.
He could easily do it—cave in the ceiling where Naia stood, unfurl the malevolence in the hearts of the crowd, who’d all point their vengeful glares in the direction of the High Goddess who could strip them of their immortality, who could truly kill them.
However, Acacius’s emotional flare would cause irreparable harm, only proving his sister right.
Folding his arms in vexation, he settled with the knowledge that his Heralds were currently lurking in the outskirts of Hollow City, planting the seeds of Ruin. The demigod boy did not stand a chance.
On the other side of Mavros was Solasta, the new High Goddess of Fate. Snug over her dark curls was a strand of golden twine wound around the crown of her head, decorated in jewels. They reflected in the sun’s rays that rained in through the skylights.
Acacius’s stomach knotted at the sight of her. A stale reminder of time’s incessant stream. It felt wrong to be in this line without Cassius and Ruelle.
He averted his gaze to the empty space on the platform.
Torin sauntered to his place in the circle, his black trench coat hitting the backs of his calves. He had the collar of his shirt stood up, meeting the sides of his chin. His jagged features were framed by shoulder-length obsidian waves.
He cut his eyes over to Acacius, who sent him a confident nod back.
When Acacius came up with his plan to steal Marina’s title from her, Torin was the first god to come to mind. He made an appearance at each one of Marina’s duels, observant of her missteps, committed to seeing her fall.
It did not take Acacius long to convince Torin to be the one to challenge her this time. The god spent centuries honing his power in preparation to one day take the title as his own. He studied Marina’s fighting style down to the angles of her fingers when she pulled at her Night, giving him a practiced upper hand.
The roots of his enmity traveled deep for the High Goddess, all because of a confrontation between the two in Isolde long ago. Marina had wrongedthe god in some way, though Torin wouldn’t elaborate howwhen Acacius asked.
The details didn’t matter, so long as the middle god succeeded.
Acacius looked around at the sea of faces surrounding them, recognizing Marina’s siblings, their silver strands and scowls, tucked midway up the stadium.
“I call upon Marina, the High Goddess of Night.” Iliana started the Council’s dialogue, her soft-pitched voice reverberating through the hall as if she spoke through an amplifier. “May she come forth.”
A long pause.
Everyone looked around.
Acacius started to fidget with his fingers but caught the tic and squeezed his hands into fists. As a Council member, the responsibility to display dignity was a reflex at this point. Dignified beings did not show weakness.
